


Soup and Prayers

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [29]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: There is an incident with soup, Mikkel talks to Onni, and Reynir attempts to pray.
Series: Mikkel's Story [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Kudos: 7





	Soup and Prayers

As the others approached and held out their bowls to be filled, Mikkel kept an eye on the woods into which Lalli had disappeared. Soon the little scout returned, stopping to lean on a tree close enough to allow him to stand guard, or to join the others in fighting if such became necessary, but not close enough to interact. Mikkel supposed that was understandable, given that the Finn couldn't communicate with anyone but his cousin. Still, the scout needed to eat, and soon.

“So what do you say, Sigrun, are we starting our journey towards Odense today?” he asked as he poured soup in her bowl, trying to ensure that she got plenty of tuna fish.

“I sure would _like_ us to. But we really need to get our scout up on his feet somehow before we go anywhere too far.”

“Well, you are in luck,” with a gesture toward the scout.

“Oh, neat! That's that taken care of then.” He was put off a bit by her indifference to the other man's well-being, but then reflected that _he_ hadn't done anything for him either. What could either of them have done or could do now, given that the scout seemed disinclined even to approach the group?

“Do you know what the terrain up ahead is like?”

He reviewed the maps he'd seen. “Not too well. It's largely former farmland, that is the extent of my knowledge. We'll certainly want to stay on paved roads when possible to avoid sinking into any potential mud pits.”

“Ehh,” she shrugged, “sounds like something we can drive through without getting stuck. We should at least test it a couple times.”

“We should _not_ ,” he countered, dismayed. If they got the tank stuck …

She gave him a rather wicked grin and addressed herself to her soup.

Emil, having overheard the conversation and peered about until he spotted Lalli, picked up the remaining bowl and brought it to Mikkel to be filled. “Well done,” the cook muttered to himself as the Swede went off to offer breakfast to their scout.

Mikkel was looking the other way when it happened, listening to Sigrun finish telling Tuuri a story about troll-hunting, and it was so quick and quiet that he didn't even turn around. He only realized what had happened when Emil returned holding his own bowl and covered with the contents of the other, now empty, bowl.

Sigrun, who had likewise not noticed the incident, smiled at her appreciative audience and instructed, “Hey short stuff, be a dear and herd your cousin to work for me.”

“Y—yes, right away,” Tuuri answered with her almost-military salute and a very uncertain look at the soup-covered Swede. Detouring to Mikkel, she asked nervously, “Do you have something I can offer him? Some food? That he can't throw at me?”

“Something healthy … hmm … here, take this potato. And this can of tuna fish …” He hated to give up one of their few cans of tasty protein, but if that was what it took to get the scout straightened out … “Here's the can opener. I want it _back!_ If you lose it we'll be opening cans with our daggers!” As she accepted the offerings with a doubtful expression, he surrendered, climbed into the tank, and returned with a cookie. “Go find out what's wrong with him.” What's wrong _now_ , he didn't say.

Returning a few minutes later, she handed back the potato and unopened can, then gave him a shocked look, pawed at her pockets, turned away as if in dismay, but immediately turned back, unable to suppress her grin as she returned the can opener. He shook his ladle at her as she left.

“Can I help?” Reynir asked. “Can I put away the cooking things?”

“In a few minutes. You can clean the bowls. Except that one. Leave that one.”

As he had expected, it was not long before Lalli slouched out of the woods, hesitantly picked up the remaining bowl, and held it out to be filled. “You throw soup at me,” Mikkel growled as he ladled soup into the bowl, “and I'll turn you over my knee and paddle you. Do not doubt me on this.”

Whether he understood the tone of voice, or hunger had overcome pique, the Finn accepted the soup and returned to his tree to eat in solitude.

“Reynir! There _is_ something you can help with.” The Icelander was at his side instantly, eager to do anything that was asked. “Go get a mug of water for me, there's a good … lad.” He managed to stop himself from saying “good boy”; there was no need to be demeaning.

Soon enough, Lalli came sloping back, holding out his bowl for a refill. Mikkel took it away, replaced it with the mug and, as the scout accepted the mug, told him pleasantly, “If you throw that water at me, I will knock you down and sit on you.” Refilling the bowl, he passed that over too and, as Lalli retreated to the woods, began the task of readying his cooking gear, including the remaining soup, for travel.

As he carried his gear into the tank, Lalli following at a careful distance, Sigrun was talking to Torbjörn on the radio: “Oh, yeah. No, we're all super stoked for going right away, isn't that right, Mikkel?”

“Yes,” he answered briefly, unwilling to express too much enthusiasm and yet longing to be on their way. He wanted to _know._

“Excellent!” Torbjörn exclaimed with enough enthusiasm for the whole team, “This makes us very glad to hear!”

A voice in the background, and Torbjörn added, “Check back in any time.” This was followed by something in Finnish, at which Tuuri muttered something in a dismayed tone and Lalli backed away to the far side of the tank.

“Psst, Mikkel,” Tuuri whispered, “I need a favour! Could you help me with my brother for a while, _please?_ Sometimes he becomes very need– um, chatty when he's worried, and I have to work with Lalli right now. Maybe you could distract him? But don't make him feel like I'm snubbing him!”

“Oh course,” he agreed, delighted at the opportunity to exercise his skills at confusing people.

“Thank you!” Heartfelt.

“Hello, I'm speaking with Onni Hotakainen, I presume,” Mikkel said cheerily to the radio in Icelandic.

“Who is this?” The other's Icelandic was heavily accented, much worse than Tuuri's.

“This is Mikkel Madsen, one of your sister's co-workers. She is too busy to speak with you right now and I'm here to distract you. So … what were you hoping to discuss?”

There was a silence as the other struggled to translate his words.

“Can't remember what was on your mind? That is quite all right, happens to the best of us.” Mikkel was in his element, confusing another with a flood of words. “So, tell me, how has your day been? Would you say that … you …” Someone was distracting him, tapping on his head.

“Hey! Mikkel!” It was Reynir.

“Yes?” This was annoying when he was just getting started.

“Is that Tuuri's brother on the line? Can I talk with him?”

“Wait your turn, we are currently in the middle of a riveting discussion.”

“No you aren't! Please, please, please, let me use the radio! I need to ask some … things.”

“Let me speak with him,” Onni commanded.

With ill grace, Mikkel relinquished the radio and went forward to see what he could interfere – that is, help – with. There being nothing, just the cousins discussing the map in Finnish, he went back outside to check around for grosslings or for anything that might have been overlooked. Sigrun, equally bored with watching a conversation that she could not understand, followed him out.

“Thanks for getting the twig back on his feet.”

“I'd take credit, but he got up by himself. I don't know what was wrong or what brought him out of it, to be entirely honest.”

“Huh! So … you think we'll find the cure?”

“We'll find _something._ I'm reluctant to say it's a cure when there were so many dead who were presumably treated –”

“Then why are we going at all? I mean, if it isn't a cure, why bother?”

“We don't _know_ it isn't a cure. There are other explanations for the dead … Anyway, we're here eating inedible sludge, as you said, so why _not_ go to Odense? We can collect books that way too. One direction is as good as another, given that we don't know the condition of any of the book caches.”

“Hmm.” There was a brief silence before she went on, “So, what do _you_ think happened last night?”

“We were attacked by ghosts and got away when Tuuri drove off.”

“I thought Danes didn't believe in ghosts.”

“We don't. Generally,” he added to be fair, thinking of Maja who most certainly did believe. “But we were attacked by something and Reynir, who warned us that an attack was about to happen, called it 'ghosts'. So 'ghosts' it is until I have a better word for it. Whether I believe they are the spirits of the unquiet dead –”

He broke off in alarm as Reynir himself jumped out of the tank and trotted toward the woods. They were in a safe location but no outdoors location was _truly_ safe. _Pettar!_ ran through Mikkel's mind and he had just opened his mouth to call back the non-immune when the other stopped, his back to them and began to speak nervously.

> Uhh, hello and good morning to anyone up there, Odinn, or, um, Freyja?
> 
> On the off chance that one of you is listening, I'd like to request some good luck and a bit of protection. Thank you, and bless you.
> 
> Oh, I'm not insinuating that _I_ have the power to bless _you!_ You blessing me is what I was getting at.
> 
> Wait, that sounded way too demanding! I didn't mean to! I just –
> 
> Forget I said anything!
> 
> I'm sorry I bothered you! Please don't smite us because of this, I'm _so_ sorry!

And the Icelander fled into the tank as the older two watched, Mikkel amused and Sigrun bewildered.

“What was _that_ all about?”

“I believe you religious folk would call it praying.”

“Well, tell him not to be so wimpy about it; the gods _hate_ weaklings.”

 _And so does she. I must keep that in mind._ “I'll certainly pass on the advice.”

As they climbed back into the tank, Lalli passed them, ready to scout their route but stopping to stretch muscles tightened by his long sleep.

They were on the move again.


End file.
